


you are a call to motion (and when you move, i'm moved)

by above_the_fold



Series: iris (a poly team au) [2]
Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, But everyone's coming out of it alive and happy, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Especially Brandt, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Hospitals, Hunley LIVES y'all, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Late Night Conversations, Missing Scenes, Mostly Canon Compliant, Multi, Multiple Partners, Multiple Relationships, Nightmares, Serious Injuries, Tears, WHAT MORE CAN YOU ASK FOR, everyone being together, except for you know, poly team
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:06:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29325942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/above_the_fold/pseuds/above_the_fold
Summary: The events of Fallout, with much more at stake.Fic title from "Movement" by Hozier.
Relationships: Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt, Benji Dunn/Ilsa Faust, Benji Dunn/Luther Stickell, Ethan Hunt/Luther Stickell, Eventual Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt/Luther Stickell/William Brandt/Ilsa Faust, Eventual William Brandt/Ilsa Faust, Ilsa Faust/Ethan Hunt, Luther Stickell/Ilsa Faust, William Brandt & Ilsa Faust, William Brandt/Benji Dunn, William Brandt/Ethan Hunt, William Brandt/Luther Stickell
Series: iris (a poly team au) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123355
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	you are a call to motion (and when you move, i'm moved)

**Author's Note:**

> I probably shouldn't be starting another multi-chapter fic when I've got like 3 others still waiting but I promise you this absolutely could not wait 
> 
> Thank you for all of the love on my other M:I stories. As always, kudos/comments appreciated, particularly in uncharted territory.

They’ve been at the safehouse in Belfast for three nights before any news comes.

Luther hears Ethan on the stairs not ten seconds after the knocking ceases. He tucks his gun away only when he hears the street door latch again—either there was no threat or Ethan’s handled it himself.

He stays at his computer, scanning through yet another government database for any identities they can link to the fallen Syndicate. Across the room Benji fiddles with a pen, work forgotten, and pouts at the pointed look Luther gives him.

It’s cute—doesn’t work.

They’ve been keeping themselves busy this way ever since their arrival, tracking hidden former Syndicate agents and sending anonymous tips to foreign agencies. Benji hates it—he thinks it’s busywork—but Luther goes diligently about it in spite of the monotony. He has the grave, unshakable feeling that their rogue mission never truly ended.

That feeling finds him again when Ethan wanders in ten minutes later, the smoldering remains of a mission file in one hand and a copy of Homer’s _Odyssey_ in the other. Benji makes grabby hands for the book, which he obligingly deposits in his lap before leaning down to kiss him.

“Been meaning to read this one,” he says, happily absorbed, and Ethan half-smiles before turning to Luther.

“I contacted our dealers. They’re meeting us in Berlin tomorrow night.”

Benji glances up sharply. “The plutonium?”

“The plutonium,” Ethan confirms, resting a hand between Luther’s shoulders as he tosses the destroyed file on the table. He doesn’t elaborate. “We have to get it before they do.”

Luther doesn’t need to ask who “they” is—he’s suspected all along that this would find them again someday. Dread fills him, cold and heavy as the screen in front of him seems to blur suddenly. Three years. Not nearly enough time.

Benji has paled a little despite the look of grim determination on his face. “Right. I’ll, uh, I’ll let Will know, then.”

He disappears, and they don’t try to follow. It’s always been their routine to call home before a mission to whoever’s left behind, but it’s clear that a phone call will do Benji more good than any of them this time, including Will. The best thing for him to do when he’s nervous has always been to talk things out with someone and, as they’ve been together the longest, that someone is usually Will anyhow. 

Ethan leans over Luther’s shoulder and gently closes his laptop. “Hey. It’s a routine op—in and out. Benji’s been dying to get back out there, I figured you could run point and he could—”

Luther takes his hands, cutting him off. “Who are we dealing with this time.”

Ethan swallows, ducking his head, and Luther allows him ten seconds before gently lifting his chin. “They call themselves the Apostles.” He gestures vaguely to the closed computer. “Guess we couldn’t get them all.”

Luther frowns, mouthing the name to himself. Ethan continues heavily, “IMF identified them as an ‘extremist splinter cell.’ They’re currently working with a man named John Lark to build an unspecified number of nuclear—nuclear weapons.” He looks away, swallowing hard again. 

“They’ll need that plutonium, then,” Luther says slowly, nearly choking on the words. God, they’re back to dealing with absolute maniacs. The stakes have never been so high, and they both know it. “We’ve got twenty-four hours.” 

“Yes.” Ethan closes his eyes and exhales before pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. “In and out.”

* * *

Of course it all goes to hell. 

It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes before Luther is wrestled from the van and marched into the alley. It’s too dark to count the guns on him or the people pointing them, but the glint of the barrel next to his head tells him _enough to hurt._ He’s instructed to stay quiet as two shadowy figures search the van and pilfer the suitcase of (counterfeit, ha) money; he strains to hear the conversation taking place just beyond them. Maybe it’s a good thing they can’t see him—he just _knows_ Ethan would send the plan up in flames in any attempt to save him. 

He clenches his teeth. No. It won’t happen; he won’t let it. 

They steer Luther into position at the opposite end of the alley. He can hear Ethan’s calm voice calling for him and he silently curses the dead comm piece in his ear.

“Kill them,” a cold voice says suddenly. 

_No—!_

Luther shouts as gunfire erupts around him; he receives a swift kick to the knee and nearly collapses from the pain. He can’t see either man for a few heart-pounding moments, just the bodies of the dealers sprawled on the ground—until he catches a flash of Benji’s dark wool coat around the corner, and he breathes a low sigh of relief.

“Luther’s not here right now,” a chilling voice says softly from beside him. There’s another gun on him, the cool metal pressed uncomfortably against his temple. “What can the Apostles do for you, _Hunt?_ ” 

He wills Ethan to stay calm even as he shakes slightly. There’s no audible answer from either him or Benji, but something must have been said, because the man at his side suddenly speaks again. “You’re boxed in, Hunt. Give us the plutonium, and walk away.”

Nothing—Luther’s just beginning to think he was worried for nothing when one of the sleek cars parked nearby roars to life. He has to smile a little in spite of himself; Benji had insisted on a remote-operated vehicle for this mission. It parks itself haphazardly about forty yards away, and then there’s a thud as a dark metal case is tossed across the alley. The plutonium is still secure. They may still make it out of here. 

But Ethan’s silent hesitation is very, very telling. 

“We’ll make you a deal, Hunt! Give us the plutonium, and we won’t kill your friend!”

Fear floods him and he remembers being told not to talk but he _has to make sure_ Ethan won’t do it. Their mission is technically complete, and he still has enough confidence in his ability to fight his way out. They cannot lose that plutonium.

"Don't you do it, Ethan! Not for me!" 

Luther stares at the wall, unflinching. He’s not exactly a God-fearing man—it’s rather difficult to be, in their line of work—but whatever happens after three, he figures he's dead either way, and he won't wake up _here,_ with his team, two of the greatest loves of his life _._ And that’s what really terrifies him. 

“I’m gonna count to three. One!”

Silence. 

"TWO!"

And Luther stares straight ahead, imagining the struggle Ethan's putting himself through behind that wall with sudden tears in his eyes. He imagines he can hear Benji breathing, harsh and loud as he tries to keep himself calm. And Will—he’ll never get to say goodbye.

He hits the ground before he even hears "three."

His vision goes dark around the edges, then all at once as his head hits the ground, but he’s alive, and the running footsteps that echo on the pavement toward him tells him the others are too. He lies stunned, forcing out shallow breaths as gunfire rings out. A few seconds later Ethan appears above him, pale and ruffled, and then Benji behind him, wild-eyed and awkwardly holding a machine gun aloft. Luther could weep at the sight of them. 

"I'm sorry," Ethan breathes, all high-pitched and unsteady as he tears open the fabric of Luther's coat. "I didn't know what else to do—" 

"We're good," he says, relaxing as Ethan's shaking hands find the hole in his Kevlar vest. The bullet had stopped an inch from his sternum—hadn't even pierced the lining. He shoots him a pained smile that quickly dissolves into a shuddering cough. Ethan is quick to give him a hand, and he heaves himself to his feet. 

He doesn't let go, but Luther knows that _he_ knows better than to show his relief the way he’s desperate to, so he simply squeezes his hand before dropping it to rub his chest. God damn, he can _feel_ a bruise already forming.

"You okay?" 

He doesn't lie because they all know the truth. "I should be dead."

He should, but he's not, and they've managed to hang on to the plutonium, too. _Mission accomplished,_ he thinks, and smothers a wry grin. Dating Ethan Hunt has admittedly rubbed off on him some. 

There's a familiar stubborn set to Ethan's jaw as Benji says, "We should all be dead!"

The alley is silent. Benji keeps the gun raised, pointed toward the shadows. Ethan looks between them, confused. "...Why aren't we?"

“Where’s the plutonium?” Luther asks suddenly, a terrible realization hitting him, and he sees it in Benji’s eyes first—they’ve fucked up so badly. 

* * *

“Ethan. It’s time.”

They’re silent in the elevator, Luther mostly out of pain and exhaustion, and Ethan in the way that’s merely characteristic of him. They don’t have much time to begin fixing their mistakes; a royally pissed Hunley is landing in Berlin tomorrow night and the threat of CIA Special Activities intervention hangs over all of their heads if they can’t get their shit together. 

So far, so good—Benji is running his false news broadcast in the next (soundproofed) room over, undoubtedly preening beneath the mask he’s finally getting to wear. Everyone knows their lines; Luther’s computer is already set up in the makeshift hospital room. The usual bet has been placed, along with a sly caveat that has Benji determined to win.

Ethan grabs his wrist as the elevator stops and, seemingly mindful of his aching ribs, leans up and kisses him. Luther sighs against his mouth and carefully pulls him closer. “You ready?”

“Sure,” Ethan mutters, shoulders tensing beneath Luther’s hand. He lets him go as the door slides open, steeling himself for the task ahead.

"Would you excuse us, please?" 

He waits until the “nurse” (he recognizes her from one of the data labs) leaves before nodding at Ethan—it’s now or never. The younger man has wandered in front of the window; the fake sunlight filtering through it is so bright that his lithe figure is diminished, fractured around the edges.

It’s a tense exchange. In reality he should’ve expected Ethan to quickly lose patience—his carefully-schooled expression of neutrality soon dissolves into blatant fury.

“What if we make a deal?” Luther finally says, with no intentions of doing so but exasperated all the same. 

"No, there’s no deal. Luther, step outside—" 

Luther surges forward and thrusts an arm between Ethan and the bed, but as the younger man fights, he's forced to tighten his hold, fisting a hand in his coat and dragging him in.

"Ethan, I can't let you do that, that's not who we are," he says, voice low and edged with desperation. The strain of the last twenty-four hours is clearly starting to set in—Luther himself is exhausted, but Ethan is angry. He gets the feeling that this is only partly an act now. 

"Then maybe we need to reconsider that," Ethan snarls, and Luther reflexively tightens his grip. Delbruuk's face has paled, but the hard set of his mouth remains. They have to tread carefully. 

"What if—they read the manifesto on the air?" he asks, and tightens his hold on Ethan again in anticipation of the reaction his suggestion will get. 

"You can do that?" 

"We can do it with a phone call," Luther promises, wincing as Ethan's elbow catches him sharply in his sore ribs. He's still struggling, glaring over Luther's broad shoulder at Delbruuk, lip curled in disgust. It's a solid act, but the slight shake of his shoulders belies a very real anger that he's not bothering to conceal. Luther taps the small of his back, reminding him to tone it down a bit: Delbruuk isn't stupid, and if he suspects what they're really doing, he won't talk.

“...Well, if he reads Lark’s manifesto…”

“No—”

“...I’ll give you the passcode!” Delbruuk wheezes, and Ethan snaps.

Luther shouts his name, wrenching him back hard enough to hurt both of them; he doesn’t miss the flash of pain in Ethan’s narrowed eyes. They’re done acting. This is total desperation. “Think, Ethan, think of the greater good, _please_ —”

“Yeah, you do that,” Delbruuk hisses, dark eyes never leaving Ethan’s face. Luther wishes he could shield the younger man from that cold, empty stare. 

He stumbles as Ethan shoves him away with surprising strength. There’s no time for hurt feelings—he waits with bated breath as Ethan runs through their scripted phone call with some techie downstairs pretending to be Hunley, just for the sake of authenticity. Right on cue, Benji-as-Blitzer begins to read from a copy of the mysterious Lark’s manifesto, and Delbruuk holds out a hand for the phone. 

“Well, it’s not gonna help you now,” he says matter-of-factly, and Luther fights the urge to smile as he turns to his computer. It’ll take him all of thirty seconds to download what they need. “What’s done is done.”

“Did we get it?” Ethan asks, and Luther’s known him long enough to recognize his tone of voice—he’s simultaneously confident yet daring to hope. 

Indeed they have. “We got it.”

The corner of Ethan’s mouth lifts in a tiny smirk. “Go.”

The walls collapse, revealing hidden cameras and the main hallway outside. Delbruuk flinches, staring around in terrified amazement. Benji strolls in, not bothering to take off his mask, and asks innocently, “Did we get it?” 

“‘Course we got it,” Ethan says, well aware of the stakes they’ve set for themselves. Luther smirks as he hands Benji the money and tips him a wink, delighting in the blush that rises in the younger man’s face. He’ll make good on the other part of their bet tonight.

“That car accident you were in? That was an hour ago,” he explains, taking slight pity on the madman before them. 

“I was driving the other car,” Benji says, cheeks still flushed pink as he tugs at his collar, having torn off his ridiculous mask.

Ethan approaches the bed with a sedative already positioned in hand. “What’s done is done, when we say it’s done,” he says, low and menacing. 

Luther drapes his arm around Benji’s shoulders and smiles. 

**Author's Note:**

> update soon. stay safe and stay warm!


End file.
